


After a Job

by ThisPeep



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Asphyxiation, BDSM, Begging, Biting, Bloodplay, Claiming, Disobedience, Dub-con Play, F/M, Knifeplay, Overstimulation, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Safewords, a lot of sadism and masochism, ah yes also, backtalk, dominant victor, jimtor, literally carving a word into someone else's back for the sexiness of it, much needed aftercare, submissive jim, victor ''just got back from killing someone n now wanna fuck the bae'' trevor, woahkay r u guys ready for how debauched this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4353902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisPeep/pseuds/ThisPeep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victor has his work persona-- someone who kills, threatens, sometimes tortures-- and a life persona. There were very strict lines between the two before Jim Moriarty, but years into the relationship and it all get's a bit blurry, especially when it comes to sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After a Job

There were times when Victor couldn’t be quiet. In fact, that was most times. Most times he hated silence-- had to speak. Most times he’d leave footsteps resounding off walls and not muffled enough by the absorption from fabric to not get picked up by keen ears.

But, that was Victor usually. That was Victor most times. 

And people were always different when they were working.

Victor had been sure to wipe the blood from his hands before he turned the doorknob, didn’t want to make anyone suspicious through something as amateur as that, but after easing it back into its place and slowly unturning the knob before releasing it Victor loosened his tie, and some blood found it’s way back onto his palm and the base of his fingers.

But that was fine. That had been one of the points. Two birds, one stone. Victor toed off his shoes and stepped lightly, looking under doors for lights turned on to find Jim. It’d ruin things if he were behind a closed door. Or if he was sleeping. Not in the bedroom or bathroom. Not in the living room. Kitchen.

Soft light trickled from underneath the door to “Victor’s room” (Unused, of course. They’d booked the flat under a different pretense, staying there for a few months because part of the network needed fine-tuning, so they'd gotten an extra one so the two men living together wouldn’t appear to be sharing a bed.) and from the crack of it being barely opened.

Victor’d found pushing doors open slowly make them more likely to creak. He pushed it just far enough open that he could slip though without issues, and not too incredibly fast, and the only sounding result was a soft rush of air that Victor, as close as he was, could barely hear. He picked his way through the door, just in front of the foot of the bed, and grinned. Jim was reading, lying on his stomach, unaware.

In one movement Victor moved forward and straddled the back of Jim’s hips, pressing a hand over his mouth and sinking his teeth into the side of Jim’s neck. (It was, in fact, probably the most efficient way to let Jim know who he was. Attackers tended not to bite, and Jim knew Victor’s teeth fairly well. He felt Jim minutely relax after half a heartbeat. Still overall tense. Good.)

Victor picked up Jim’s book and tossed it to the floor, and he was leaning in to place a kiss to the back of Jim’s neck before he felt a hand on his side, trying to push him off. Victor made a soft sound of amusement and caught Jim’s wrist, taking his hand from Jim’s mouth and pressing the elbow of his arm against the back of Jim’s head, only a spilt second of protests released until the pillow had him muffled again. With the newly free hand Victor cause Jim’s other wrist, pinning them above his head and transferring both of Jim’s wrists to be held down by just one hand.

(And Jim didn’t break free from that. Though he was struggling, he wasn’t doing so hard enough.)

Victor sat up, looking over Jim appreciatively.

Jim twisted underneath Victor, throwing him off balance, and he’d made it to almost sitting up facing Victor before Victor was resituated and of course, Victor was wearing his work clothes so he slipped out the nearest knife and pressed it against Jim’s throat.

Being a responsibly sensible man at times, Jim stopped moving.

(And though Victor was pretty damn sure, with how Jim sometimes liked things and with his pupils swallowing his irises, there was a certain amount of caution he had to do, for his own comfort if not Jim’s.) “Colour?”

“Green.” Jim responded immediately, and he let out a quick shuddering breath before continuing. “Green green greengreengreengree--” Trying to urge Victor on.

Victor streaked a line through Jim’s shirt, white quickly getting strained wine, and Jim shut his mouth with an audible click of teeth hitting teeth and he tensed again, trying to hide the fact he was keening.

“I said colour, kid. Not colours.”

Jim released a soft breath, and his tongue dipped out to dampen his lips.

Victor held up the knife, not even bothering to look at the wound. (Not deep enough to be of any real concern-- Victor trusted his skill with non-lethal pain enough to be sure of that.) He pressed the side of the blade flat against Jim’s lips and Jim swallowed thickly.

Most submissive would have licked it, Victor knew. He’d done enough research, talked to enough people. Victor knew enough to know that Jim was a fucking bratty sub if there ever had been. He agreed if he knew it was the only way to pleasure, or if it was causing him pleasure, and he had no issue begging if prompted-- but doing those fake innocent cliches wasn’t on Jim’s list of things he’d do.

Still. Didn’t mean Victor couldn’t punish him for refusing the implied request. He turned the knife so the seated edge was pressed into Jim’s lip. Not quite drawing blood. Enough pressure that Jim was barely breathing and his eyes were glued to the tip of the blade.

Victor pushed in more and dragged down and Jim’s jaw clenched with the effort of not pulling away. (It was only a shallow, small cut. But all those nerves in the lips? The taste of blood immediately hitting Jim’s tongue? Plus not being used to being injured there with anymore more than soft bites.

“Lay down.”

Jim stared at Victor’s eyes. “What do I get if I do?”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “I think you should be more concerned about what you get if you don’t.” He drawled, shooting for apathetic and by the way Jim’s breath hitched on it’s way in he succeeded. 

“I want a kiss.”

“You’ll get an intact throat.”

“Maybe I want both.”

Victor shoved Jim’s shoulder and he hit the mattress with a louder than expected thud, and Jim had just started to move his elbows to give him leverage to sit back up when Victor rested the very tip of his knife on the hallow of Jim’s throat and started to twirl it. “You're too greedy. Now you might not get either.”

“I’m laying down.” Jim pointed out, and he couldn’t push down the grin any more.

“God, you’re a fucking brat, you know that?”

Jim shifted his shoulder, keeping his neck in place, pleased. “Mm. So I’ve been told.”

Victor pushed the blade in and a bead of blood stuck to the cold metal like charged iron.

Jim tilted his head back more. 

“Turned on yet?”

Jim hummed. “Very.”

“You’re disturbed.”

“Fuck me.”

“Say please.”

“Please.”

Well. In hindsight, Victor should have asked for more. He tilted his head. “No.”

That did wring a sound of protest from Jim, which was a nice indicator Victor was doing well. Protest meant denial of something Jim wanted-- and that meant Jim wanted. “Please.”

“I heard you the first time.”

“Victor--”

“God, I may fuck your mouth just to get you to stop talking so much. Haven’t you ever heard only speak when you’re spoken to?”

Jim grinned. “You spoke to me.”

True. Damn. True. Victor glared. “I spoke _at_ you. Like one would a doll.” Or a skull. (Bad memory, move away. Jim and the thrill of a kill and blood and the sounds Jim made right before he came.)

“I don’t think most people cut up their dolls, darling. And you say I’m the psychotic one.”

Victor was being played, of course. He’d been the entire time. Jim back talked when he wanted to rile Victor up-- when he could tell Victor was in the mood for something rough and unloving and Jim decided he could go for that, too. Still, it was something Victor wanted, and he wasn’t able to truly deny Jim what he wanted for long, either. 

Victor pushed Jim onto his stomach again, hearing Jim hiss with the pressure applied to the cut on his chest, and left the shirt to stick to the wound and tugged down Jim’s trousers and pants to just above his knees, mostly restraining his legs from movement. And Jim’s hands helpfully fisted in the bedspread.

“How’s the lip?”

There was a pause where Jim did something-- presumably swallowed or sighed or smiled but Victor wasn’t at the right angle to see and blood was rushing in his ears too much to hear quiet sounds. “Oh, right, you’d ‘hurt’ it. I’d forgotten, with how weak the attempt at pain was.”

Jim was pretty good at urging Victor on, when he wanted to be. 

Victor sucked his middle finger into his mouth, barely giving it a moment before pulling it from his lips and slipping it into Jim’s ass, pushing in roughly and starting to pump. “Tell me about it.” Victor said over Jim’s faux annoyed grunt.

“It’s a paper cut on my lip, basically.”

“I could carve a poem into your back.”

Jim visibly shivered. He didn’t get out more of a reply then, “Oh.” And Victor felt him start to rock back against the finger, just a bit, just enough to be noticeable.

A full poem would be too much, of course-- Jim would black out from the pain, and that’d hardly be fun. Victor slipped out a bottle of lube from under the mattress and pulled his finger out and poured some out before pushing two fingers back in, and Jim gave a sharp intake at the cold stretch.

Victor could do a word. A properly carved word, Jim could take one. And Victor’s blade was sterilized, only contaminated with Jim’s own blood. No issue there. 

He moved his fingers to find a familiar bump, rubbing against it a few times while Jim’s back curved and he pressed back into the touch more definitely, a small plead for more escaping his lips.

Victor rested the blade just under Jim’s left shoulderblade, pushing in a bit. “Colour.”

Jim paused. “I...”

Victor raised an eyebrow before blinking and he paused his fingers. Right. Yeah. It’d make it a bit hard to process properly. “Colour.”

After taking a few moments to breathe, regain bearings, Jim swallowed. “Yellow. Not an entire poem, I hope.”

Victor laughed lightly. “A word.”

“What word?”

Victor scoffed.

Okay. Not being told that, then. Jim shifted, feeling the metal edge scrape over his skin. It was really very appealing. “How many letters?”

Brief pause from Victor. “Four.”

Jim relaxed slightly. Not a very long word, then. “How deep?”

“Not enough to scar, but enough to last.”

Okay. Okay. That sounded handle-able. Possibly not thoroughly and constantly pleasurable, but Victor wanted to do it, and Jim found it hard to deny Victor’s bloodlust. “Green.”  
And Victor’s fingers found Jim’s prostate again, a third one pushing in alongside as Victor split apart Jim’s skin, curving and drawing out lines. He went over the first letter again, and he’d never felt Jim quite so tense. Still, no paused was asked for, so Victor didn’t worry. He kept kneading Jim’s pleasure spot and carving into his back and Jim only got more tense, feeling more like he was ready to snap at any given moment-- and he’d fallen near silent, too. The only real time during sex Jim was quiet was when he was coming, usually. At any other people he was full of backtalk or sounds of pleasure.

Victor finished off the last letter quickly, because although the blood and word and rush of power was absolutely intoxicating he was slightly concerned about Jim’s near silence and when he put down the knife on the bedside table Jim gasped, seemingly realizing Victor was done, and he ducked his head against the pillows.  
Victor was tempted to place a kiss under the new decoration in Jim’s skin. But that’d be too sweet at a time like that. (He could feel himself slowly starting to come off the job, though. Had to capitalize on the continued feeling now.)

They'd agreed to stop using condoms a while ago, after careful testing, and it was always a relief when Victor didn’t have to fumble around with a slippery packet and he simply removed his fingers before pushing in, barely moving forward until he was sheathed the whole way with how quickly and hard Jim pressed back into it.

“Calm down there, don’t want to come off as eager.” Victor commented, and he sounded perfectly amused even to his own ears, but it didn’t even come close to deterring Jim who’d already pulled almost off Victor’s cock entirely before sliding back down it quickly.

It had to hurt. Just a bit, with the preparation, but Victor knew it stung. He also knew that if left to own devices Jim would fuck himself on Victor to completion-- hell, he already was fucking himself on Victor and moaning like it was the new black and he was rolling his body, too, even making sure Victor’s cock bushed up against his prostate.  
It wasn’t bad, the feeling or view. Victor just rested his hand on Jim’s hip, watching, and it was taking a good deal of willpower not to thrust into Jim but he wasn’t sure how much harder he could make it than how roughly Jim was already doing it, in that position. He wasn’t entirely sure he could do it with the single-minded determination, either, and by the time Victor gave in Jim was biting down on his arm to try and quiet himself and his breaths were coming out in fast huffs. 

Still, it was barely trouble breathing. Victor reached out and trapped Jim’s throat, cutting off his air by pulling up until Jim reluctantly followed, moved so he was kneeling and Jim’s hands went straight from the bedsheets to tangle in Victor’s hair, stretching up so that he get could any air at all without Victor’s hand closing off the passage.  
And, in that position, he was helpless. Couldn’t move at all, really. His hands had no where to go but the back of Victor’s head, Jim couldn't move his legs without moving down and cutting off his air, his only option was stilling.

And taking what he was given. Which was nothing for a few painfully long moments. 

“Well?”

Jim grit his teeth. Of fucking course. “I just let you write god knows what in my back-- not on, in-- and you’re not going to fuck me if I don’t beg.”

Victor grinned, rolling his hips up to rub his cock along the cleft of Jim’s arse and nipping at the side of his neck. “Yep.”

“Prick.” Jim hissed.

Victor made a low sound from the back of his throat, leisurely rolling his hips. (If Jim took much longer Victor’s willpower would crumble.) “Mmhm.”

A few more seconds of silence, Jim trying to shift to see if he could get more without Victor’s help to no avail. “You’re an absolute sadistic bastard and I need you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Made it sound contemplational. “That all?”

“Victor! For fuck’s sake! I don’t think I’ve ever been so fucking pent up in my whole damn _life_ and it’s your bloody fault and I need your cock inside me now or I’m going to rip your throat out the very fucking _second_ I get free. _Do you understand me?”_

Now that was far more like it. Far more like Jim, at least. And it took the very last of Victor’s willpower, but Victor did know for a fact that Jim would end up practically aching with arousal if he just held out a bit longer and besides, Victor wanted to draw it out as long as he could, now that he’d gotten back into the right mindset completely. Make Jim squirm for it. “Say please.”

Jim did squirm. Because it was a very different type of please he’d be saying then before but it was pointless not to say it, really, and he’d finally get what he wanted when he did. Jim made himself relax, loosen up more. “Victor, _please_.”

End of Victor’s willpower, end of Jim’s patience, end of any reason not to push into Jim like Victor’s life depended on it-- which it might have, a bit, considering possibly consequences of leaving Jim unsatisfied if doing so wasn’t previously agreed to-- so Victor did, and there was no easing into a quick pace. Fast and brutal from the start, shoving all the way in until there was a resounding slap of skin on skin and then pulling out until it was just the tip of his head in and pushing back up again without pause, unrelenting, and the up thrusts were hard enough that it lifted Jim just a hair into the air, throat loosing direct contact with Victor’s fingers for a millisecond, and the sounds that spilled from Jim’s lips were the most raw version of fucking finally Victor had heard in a very, very long time.

The hand not hovering threateningly over Jim’s windpipe had been on his hip, but it moved to Jim’s cock soon enough. Jim had expected some sort of pressure at the base-- Victor knew he could come just by being fucked, so if he wanted to draw it out it’d be better to cut off the impending orgasm-- but instead there was a not-as-tight-as-expected grip and then sliding, pulling, and Jim gave a surprised gasp before letting his head fall back against Victor’s shoulder, biting his cut lip and letting blood trickle down his chin, jaw, neck. His grip on Victor’s hair got painfully tight, nails digging into Victor’s scalp, and Jim’s gasps of warning went ignored.

Jim didn’t have a good willpower, really. Not when it came to sex. He had never had a reason to learn to hold back, to force a longer delay before coming then would normally happen, and so his attempt at doing so then was short-lasting and he fell into his tell-tale silence, spilling over Victor’s hand. 

Victor continued to stroke him though it, fuck him through it.

Continued to fuck him afterwards too. Jim gave a hiss of overstimulation. 

“Colour.” Victor murmured, through heavy breaths against Jim’s ear.

Jim squeezed his eyes shut, a drop of water running from one. “Greenish yellow.” 

Keep going, be prepared to stop. Unsurety. But wanting to try. Alright. Victor wasn’t worried he wouldn’t be able to stop, honestly. He could drop his job persona quickly, if needed, switch into aftercare. Fuss relentlessly.

But at that moment he had something else to do relentlessly, and considering Jim was hardly in the state to be pushing back-- all he took was take it and suppress shudders-- Victor let him fall back into his position on his stomach, the then-cool sheets a relief, leaning over Jim and resting his mouth on Jim’s shoulder and he wasn’t going to last much longer, honestly, and Jim could tell.

(If Jim hadn’t known it’d end soon, he’d have switched his colour. The too much was edging towards nonononoithurtsno and the rarely used ‘red’ would have had to come into play. But he could take another minute or so. Possibly.)

Thankfully, another full minute wasn’t quite needed, and Jim’s boundaries didn’t have to be pushed so far in one go. Victor came with a low grunt and after he’d pulled out he’d expected Jim would have relaxed.

When Jim didn't, Victor got concerned. “Jim?”

There was a short, small nod of acknowledgement. 

Victor bit his lip. Touch might be bad. “Too much?”

The one thing Jim really, really didn’t want to do was answer questions. He still felt too wired. The expensive sheets felt rough and course, like they were trying to rub off his skin. “Please, stop.”

Victor tenssed. “I have.”

“Asking questions.”

Oh. “How am I--” Meant to know what to do, then? “Never mind. Alright. It’s alright, Jim, you’re okay. You’re fine. It’ll go away soon enough.” Victor shifted closer, hesitantly laying a hand on Jim’s shoulder. 

Skin. Skin felt nice, familiar, cold. (Cold hands. At least, cooler than Jim’s skin.) Jim pressed into the touch, and he rolled over, giving a sharp hiss at the cuts on his back pressing against the sheets, and he ended up curled up mostly on top of Victor, pressed against him, and in that position Victor could feel each little shiver or shaky breath.  
Victor carded a hand through Jim’s hair. “We really should clean and bandage the wounds on your back.”

Jim nodded softly. “I know. Just... give me a moment. What did you write, anyway?”

“Á moi.”

"That's not one word." Jim objected, moving back to send Victor an annoyed look before realizing moving quickly wasn't quite on the table yet and letting out a fast rush of air before carefully easing himself back against Victor.

Victor internally winced. "I'm sorry, next time I'll--"

“Shut up.” Jim pressed himself against Victor more, resting his head in the crook of Victor’s neck. “It was nice. It was-- really, really nice. Fuck. It was hot. Good.” Words. They were good words, though, so they were hopefully conveying what Jim was trying to say. “Just. A few moments too long. I just need some time to come down. I’ll be fine. Stop worrying, it means you won’t do it again.”

Victor smiled softly. “So you enjoyed it, then?”

Jim nodded slowly, drained. “Mm. And I’m going to sleep like a rock tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> @lucifer: take me down to the pit, i have accepted my fate, for your stake on my soul has been not but burned into my bones due to the things my fingers create.
> 
> this is all dtroid's fault ok he was like "oh wow imagine this thing. imagine it. right now at this moment while you're in the mood to write. I M A G I N E"


End file.
